I’ve chosen to wear the flirtiest, most casual thing in my closet: a white flower-patterned dress with layers of summer material and halter straps. Paired with white peekaboo heels with dainty bows at the ankles and accessorized with a thin ruby bracelet and matching earrings, I look like I’m heading for a day at the polo grounds. Not that I know what that entails, but I can use my imagination.

When I go to Travis, he’s in the library, studying something on his laptop screen. He’s taken off his jacket, and his dark blue tie is loose, his expression serious. But one look at me and his gaze brightens.

I smile, flattered, radiance spreading through me.

Then he raises a brow as he peruses my outfit.

“You said to surprise you,” I say. “So…tah-dah. Surprise! This isn’t exactly the kind of thing you’d wear to a five-star restaurant, but I thought we could have…I don’t know. A different kind of night? Something relaxing?”

I don’t know where I’m getting the brass to suggest something he would probably never plan for us, but he wears a small smile as he leans back in his leather chair. He’s clearly humoring me after the emotional meltdown I had.

“You know I can get tickets to any Broadway show and dinner reservations anywhere on a whim,” he says.

Of course he can.

“I already had a great dinner with you the other night.” And a heck of a lot more when he brought me back here. “Remember when you said you had a certain side of New York to show me? Well, I thought maybe we could see a side that’s a little more…”

“Relaxing,” he says, as if he doesn’t hear the word often. And maybe a killer businessman like Travis Star doesn’t.

“I know that concept hardly exists in your world, but maybe you could explore its definition tonight.” I pause then add, “If you’re good with that. You said I could choose what to have for dinner.”

It strikes me that, wow, I really have some guts.

But he doesn’t give me one of his cold looks. He seems to be turning over in his mind the idea of letting me choose our next meal, tapping his fingertips on the surface of the desk. I’m asking for him to relax not only himself but his firm grip on control. I’m not sure if anyone has ever asked him to do this, and the sheer brass of what I’ve done sinks in even more.

When he glances at me with a glint in his eyes, I smile in surprise. Is he pleased that I’m feeling better and he’s about to give in to my request because a happy mistress means happy times? Or is he merely satisfied because my improved mood is due to him? When I called my mom, I told her only that I was sending a small advance from my job to her bank account, and that’s why I needed her information. Hearing the happiness in her voice was… Well, it made my day. No, my century. How could I not be walking on air at the thought that she and Tate will be fleeing Gary soon?

Travis stands and closes his laptop. “I’ll save us time and call my connection for a show.”

I think that’s a yes to my idea: he’ll take care of our entertainment and I’ll take care of dinner. I can’t believe he’s meeting me half way, but it’s much more than I expected. Maybe he is capable of relaxing.

He gets out his phone and walks away, a hint of a smile on his face. I think he might even be amused by my enthusiasm.

With a bounce in my step, I busy myself by wandering the library. I can hear water running from the guest room, and I guess he’s taking a fast shower. When he emerges dressed in khakis and a tucked-in, simple white button down, he steals the air from my lungs. He’s that gorgeous, even if his clothes will superficially blend in with many of the others in the theater district—if no one looks too closely at the weave of his shirt or trousers. He still has the air of a billionaire about him. It’s in the arrogant way he holds himself, the authority he has.

“It looks like someone has a secret stash of clothes in this apartment,” I say.

“Someone occasionally spends the night here and is constantly prepared for the unexpected.”

That’s right. Other women have stayed in this apartment. It’s a reality that never lets me forget its existence.

He jerks his chin toward the door, then escorts me out.

A town car is waiting for us outside, and after we climb in, he says, “You know we won’t have time for anything to eat before curtain.”

“That’s okay.”

“I can arrange—”

At my smile, he stops.

“Time to relax, Mr. Star. That’s the name of the game tonight.” I laugh. “Boy, am I going to love seeing you do it, too.”

His dirty grin tells me that I can expect fifty other ways to find “relaxation” tonight after we return to the apartment.

I can only hope.

* * *

The town car drops us off in front of a theater playing the hottest show in the city—one that people are notoriously scalping tickets for in the thousands of dollars. I marvel not only at Travis’s sway in getting us these last-minute seats, but at the fact that there are theaters all over the darn place—almost as many as there are gas stations in my small town. More even.

During the next three hours, the music, the costumes, the energy, the prime seats Travis secured for us…all of them transport me to another place. When we walk out onto the street after the encores, I’m dizzy with joy.

And I haven’t left any of the songs or pageantry behind more than a half hour later, as Travis and I sit on the crowded red steps right in the center of Times Square. Neon billboards flash around us in the dead of night, car horns and the low roar of traffic hovering under a layer of exhaust fumes and aromas from food carts and trucks and the restaurants that all bunch together. On the steps, where everyone else is standing, we have our dinner spread out around us, all from the various food trucks I asked Travis to visit with me. Tamales, jerk chicken, lamb gyros, and roasted chestnuts…we’ve got a definite feast.

Travis seems totally unaware of the women checking him out as he eats more of his tamale, then washes it down with his soda. He dangles the bottle from his long fingers. “How you managed to dig up five-star food in the midst of this neon tourist trap, I’ll never know.”

“Five-star, huh?” I laugh, mostly at his teasing words. “You don’t have to compliment me on my taste.”

“So far, I like your taste,” he says. “But you know that I’ll have to spend an extra hour in the gym tomorrow.”

Travis…lifting weights, flexing his muscles. Be still my beating heart. I only smile at him as I eat more of my gyro, which tastes of seasoned lamb with tomato and yogurt sauce, hold the onions. I sigh, watching the billboard lights that surround us and illuminate all the people moving like human waves over the sidewalks.

I swallow my food, then say, “It’s true that this city never sleeps. It’s just before midnight, and it’s busier than downtown Harrisburg during the light of day.”

“What’s your town like?”

He’s actually interested? Nah, he’s probably making polite conversation until he can get me back to the bedroom, where he most likely meant to have me before my personal issues interrupted his plans.

I shrug. “Let’s put it this way—Harrisburg has one elementary school, one middle school, and a high school. How many schools does New York have?”

“Not enough to keep up with our population.”

I’ve never seen him more relaxed, and I angle my head in question.

I get an eyebrow cock in return.

“I’m just wondering if you visited your massage therapist today or something,” I say. “You’re a different man than I met that first night on the jet, all business, all the time.”

He puts his tamale down in its wrapper, silent.

Shoot, I shouldn’t have said that. Is he thinking of business now? Have I conjured thoughts of the robbery in his London store? I was hoping that the crime had been solved, and that’s why he’s been so mellow. I didn’t see anything online about the case, but I’m not about to ask him, breaking up this wonderful night we’ve been enjoying.

It’s almost as if we’re on a real date, and I want this Travis to stick around for a while.

Feeling the awkwardness, I look at the crowds again; among the tourists, there are costumed people in the Square trying to solicit tips. Two ragtag superheroes argue with each other, probably over their territory. Travis follows my stare.

“Who could’ve ever predicted we’d live in a comic-book world?” he says as if trying to break the ice. “All you see down here anymore are caped characters, masks, and utility belts.”

I want to tell Travis that he was my superhero today, but I’m pretty sure he would shrug that off, so I take another route. “So what kind of guy are you, Travis? Comic-book reader or lover of the Great American Novel?”

He looks at me as if no one has ever asked him such a thing before. Then he shrugs those broad shoulders. The lights playing over him tease his high cheekbones, his tanned skin, his neatly clipped dark hair.

“Let’s put it this way,” he says. “If I had the luxury of reading anything beyond business reports and the news, I’d probably try both.”

The way he says it—with a sense of longing—chips away at me.

“You have a lot of classics as well as beach reads in the apartment’s library,” I say. “Believe me, I’ve looked.”

“A little bit of everything is in there, but those books aren’t for me.”

It’s another reminder of the women who’ve come before me, and I retreat slightly, picking at my food.

He shifts on his seat, then nudges me with his arm.

“How about you?” he asks.

“I like to read anything and everything. Heck, I just like to read. Always have, always will.”

I’m sure he’s already found that out on the Highest Bidder website, just as I’ve discovered the basics about him. The very tiniest basics.

I nudge him now. “TV or movies? Which do you like better?”

“Again, I don’t have time for either.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t watch anything entertaining?”

“It’s time to call it a night, Nova,” he says quietly.

I can barely hear him over the sounds of the Square, but his words are loud and clear. They repeat themselves with every lurch of my blood in my veins, with every breath I can’t seem to take anymore.

Time to go back to the apartment, where I’m not sure which Travis I’m going to get tonight.